Page 63 of Slap Shot
The messages were damning. Travis discussing Coach Vicky's "problematic influence," planning the salary leaks to create team discord, targeting Oliver specifically because he represented what Travis called "the degradation of traditional hockey culture."
"'Female coaches and diversity hires are destroying the sport,'" Jack read aloud, his voice getting quieter with each word. "'We need to restore proper leadership before it's too late.'"
"There's more," Heather said gently. "Financial transactions, technical instructions from Kai, even discussions about future attacks they were planning."
Jack returned to his desk, sinking into his chair like he'd aged ten years in ten minutes. "Travis. God damn it, Travis." He looked up at them. "You're absolutely certain? There's no possibility of error?"
"None," Heather said. "I've triple-checked everything. Oliver verified it independently. The evidence is incontrovertible."
Jack pulled out his phone. "Security to the executive floor immediately. And check the parking garage for Travis Dane's vehicle."
They waited in tense silence. Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally, Jack's phone rang.
"His car just pulled in," Jack said after hanging up. "He's on his way up."
"How do you want to handle this?" Oliver asked.
"I want to hear him deny it. I want to look him in the eye while he tries to explain this away." Jack's voice carried controlled fury. "You two stay. I want witnesses to whatever he says."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Travis appeared in the doorway, looking perfectly put together in his usual navy suit, tablet tucked under his arm.
"Morning, Jack. I have those reports you—" He stopped, noticing Heather and Oliver. His expression flickered, just for a moment. "I didn't realize you had an early meeting."
"Sit down, Travis."
Something in Jack's tone must have warned him. Travis moved cautiously to a chair, his professional mask firmly in place. "Is there a problem?"
Jack turned Heather's laptop toward him. "Explain this."
Travis leaned forward, studying the access logs. "I'm not sure what you're asking me to explain. These are standard administrative access records."
"These are records of you accessing files that were leaked to the media within hours."
"Coincidence. Hundreds of people have access to—"
"These files," Heather interrupted, pulling up the honeypot evidence, "never existed except as tracking markers. You're theonly person who accessed them. They appeared verbatim in yesterday's blog posts."
Travis went very still. The mask cracked, showing something desperate underneath. "This is a misunderstanding. There's an explanation."
"The explanation," Jack said coldly, "is that you've been working with Kai Moreno to destroy this organization from the inside. We have your communications, Travis. We have everything."
For a moment, Travis said nothing. Then his expression hardened into something ugly and defiant.
"You want to know why?" His voice dripped contempt. "Look what you've done to this team. A female coach. Players involved in security decisions. Diversity initiatives that prioritize politics over performance. You're destroying everything that has made this sport great."
"So you decided to destroy it first?"
"I decided to save it from your social experiments." Travis stood, his carefully maintained composure finally shattering. "Men built hockey. Men should run hockey. That woman has no business behind an NHL bench, and you know it."
"Get out." Jack's voice was barely above a whisper.
"The truth hurts, doesn't it? When your little experiment fails—"
"Security is already here," Jack cut him off. "You're terminated, effective immediately. You'll be escorted from the building. Any attempt to access our systems or contact our employees will be met with criminal charges."
Two security guards appeared in the doorway. Travis looked at them, then back at Jack, his expression cycling through denial and rage before settling on bitter resignation.
"You're making a mistake," he said. "When this all falls apart, remember that I tried to stop it."
